Tag: Brotherhood

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The Neverending Story

I’ve had a few people asking me why I haven’t written anything lately and when I would. I’ve had some ideas bounce around my head, and was thinking I was ready to do something, maybe something light-hearted to get me back into the swing of things.

With apologies to the book/movie, the universe again provided. I wish it hadn’t.

But this really is how it feels some days.

Like today.

Mixed in amongst all the well wishes (thanks for those btw) I found out one of my son’s friends/mentors from his time at the IAFF Behavioral Heath Center took his own life last night. And so, I found myself sitting in my carport this morning, tears streaming down my face. For a man I never met.

I can’t begin to imagine how this blow struck my son. But it is a stark reminder of just how fragile the human psyche is. And how difficult it is to find, and keep, your balance.

For those of you that aren’t aware, my son is back in a counseling program, an outpatient program about 35 minutes from home. The last few times we’ve spoken, he has seemed to be in better spirits, but in all honesty, when we chat, it is such a small snapshot of his day, I’m not sure how he feels. And even if I was back in Illinois, I’m not sure I’d know. But, in all honesty, this is one of the times where the miles between us feels even farther than it really is.

My son and daughter-in-law continue working on Run For Our Lives and if you haven’t already “liked” their page, I urge you to do so to keep current on their progress. As a reminder, he’ll be running one kilometer for every firefighter suicide in 2019. As of October 31st, that number was 101 and quite frankly, that boggles my mind. The money they raise will go to Illinois Fire Fighter Peer Support, (855-90-SUPPORT) a wonderful organization that has done, and continues to do, so much to help men and women in our chosen profession cope with the often overwhelming nature of the job. Even my simple math skills tell me that we’re looking at roughly 120 Fire Fighter suicides by the end of the year.

That’s too many.

Too many people that can’t find the answers. Too many people that feel they have nowhere else to turn. Too many people that can’t find peace. Too many people that feel taking their own life is the best, maybe only, possible choice.

As a parent, we’re programmed to provide for our children. And, when we are unable to provide the thing they need, the burden weighs heavy. This is not something that goes away when your child reaches a certain age. When it happens, we dig in and do whatever we can to try and help. But it rarely feels like enough, especially when crap keep coming at them in waves. A week or so ago I was able to offer up an analogy that resonated with him during a rough stretch. It felt great to know that I was able to contribute in some small way. But it never feels like enough. So I’ll do what I can, and in this case, what I do best, and write about our experiences so that hopefully sharing our pain will help open a door for someone, somewhere, in need.

This image, taken by my daughter-in-law, is one that sums up his struggle brilliantly. I hope that our story helps eliminate what it so perfectly illustrates.

Elliott, I hope you find the peace you sought but couldn’t find here in this plane.

Rest In Peace.

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PTSD

You may have noticed I haven’t produced any content here in, oh, almost two months. There are many reasons for this, and I’m not about to bore you with any of them. Instead, I’d like to do this. Devote today’s post to something different from my typical light-hearted fare and dive right into the topic I’ve chosen to come back here with.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Last fall I wrote about the way we (mis)treat our veterans and I included some statistics I found on the interwebz along with some nonprofits that provide essential services to vets in need. I had no idea how close to home any of this was at the time. I found out just how close it was this past April.

I had already planned a trip back to Illinois for various grandkids events. What I hadn’t planned for was finding out my son had been diagnosed with PTSD as a result, not only of his time in the Army, but that service coupled with coming home from Baghdad to the immediate aftermath of Caitlin’s death with a topper of the often times life and death (emphasis on the death part) of our chosen career.

For some background, after he graduated high school he knew he wanted to make the fire service his career. The fly in the ointment was that he was too young to test for FD jobs at that point. I had told him, probably several times, that I thought the military would be a good experience for him. As I’ve said numerous times, both here and IRL, he was never a bad kid by any means, but I felt that the self-discipline the military would teach him would serve him well as an adult.

Then September 11th happened.

And, of course, everything changed.

In January 2003 he was sent to Kuwait for the second time. His unit had spent several months there in 2002, but this time they prepped in earnest for what would become Operation Iraqi Freedom. In March of 2003 his unit was among the first into Iraq. They were in country for about eight weeks when Caitlin was killed and I contacted the Red Cross to get him home, ultimately too late to say good bye to her.

Due to his short-timer status (he only had a few months left in his enlistment) he was allowed to stay stateside after Caitlin’s funeral. I don’t recall exactly how long he was able to stay with Diane and I but it seems as though it was several weeks, maybe a month, before he had to go back to Fort Benning, GA to finish out his enlistment. We didn’t talk much about his time overseas in these days. The only conversations I remember having with him were that it took him about two weeks of being home to stop scanning the rooflines for snipers for one; and that one day, as he cut the grass for me, a couple neighborhood kids innocently lit off some firecrackers. It was a week or two before July 4th, so that wasn’t unusual. His response to the sound of the firecrackers was to hit the ditch. That’s the environment he had come from, so I understood it and wasn’t too alarmed when he told me. I figured as he reacclimated to civilian life, he’d get a better handle on things.

I had no clue how wrong I was.

We had always been able to talk about any number of topics, he and I. But, looking back, few of the topics were of a serious nature. And I don’t say that to throw stones at either of us, more as matter-of-fact. I don’t believe for a second that either of us feared difficult conversations. Maybe more that by our nature we each tend to put off the difficult conversations.

So now, flash forward to April 2019. A got a text from my daughter-in-law one morning asking if I had a few minutes to talk. I did and she called me a moment or two later.

As I listened to her tell me my son had been diagnosed with PTSD I felt all the air in my lungs leave me. I had had no clue. And as the realization that I’d had no clue washed over me, I felt an almost instant sense of failure. How could I have missed something like this? How could I never once have a conversation with him about this? And, almost as quickly, I recognized the same behavior in myself. I mean, after all, I chose the name of this blog due to my own ability to hide personal struggles from the general public. Again, this is not me pointing fingers, this is me trying to lay this out as matter-of-factly as I can. These were the thoughts that went through my head. And they rocked my world like it hadn’t been rocked in a very long time.

Since I had planned on coming home in about ten days anyway, I told her I’d pack up my stuff and be there as quickly as I could. So while they made arrangements to find in-patient counseling for him, I made arrangements to get out of town and on the road home. 48 hours after finding out, I was on the road back to Illinois to help out however I was needed. I figured, at the very least, I could provide some sense of normalcy for their two littles, since we soon found out Daddy would gone for around a month, maybe more, depending on how it went. He ended up getting admitted into a behavioral health center founded by our union, the International Association of Fire Fighters (IAFF) in suburban Baltimore, MD.

Just a few weeks prior to all this we had both attended a legislative conference for the union in Springfield and one of the speakers was a young woman from the center. I remembered something she had mentioned, it was something I’d heard before, but this time, it stuck. She said, if you encounter a friend or coworker that was struggling emotionally, you need to ask them if they’d had any thoughts about harming themself or others. And I mentioned that to my D-I-L and told her if she hadn’t asked him that, specifically, she needed to. She texted me back a little while later and said she asked him and he said that he had not. So that was a small sigh of relief. After he had been at the center for a few days we found out that he’d lied to her. He had, in fact, given thoughts to harming himself, the stress had gotten so bad. He said he couldn’t handle seeing anymore dead people. It goes without saying that’s a part of our job.

We were able to speak with him pretty much every day right from the start. And as his time there went on (he was in for 30ish days) and he made more progress the frequency of his calls increased. In all honesty, I worried that he was pushing to get released too soon. But he assured me that wasn’t the case, that he was truly ready. To say there were no bumps in the road after he returned would be a lie. There were, without question. To the point that he and I went for a drive one night so we could vent at each other, and, while in the car he gave me, for the first time since he came back from Iraq in 2003, an example of what he’d been dealing with since then, unbeknownst to all of us. And I’m not going to describe it for you other than to say it was pretty horrific. And I can’t imagine carrying it with me for any amount of time, let alone for sixteen years. But it really helped illuminate for me what he’d lived through and with for all those years.

The plan laid out for him to return from the center was; his first week was off work, to get back into the flow of home life. Then back on the job for a week of light-duty. Followed by a return to full duty. His time on light-duty was pretty helpful for him as he went to each of his firehouses on each shift to explain to them what he’d been through and what the center had done for him. Talking about it helped. His return to full duty came at him like a young Mike Tyson. Relentlessly. Each shift, for his first four shifts back, his crew had a cardiac arrest call. Karma gave no fucks, clearly.

But he continued, and continues, making baby steps forward. It helped a lot once the people that lived in the town he works stopped trying to die every day he worked, but more than that, the things he learned at the center helped him keep upright and moving in the right direction. Which is, of course, the best outcome we could have hoped for, all things considered.

I’ve tried over the years, and I think I’ve done an ok job, of telling him that I’m proud of him, proud of the man he’s become. He’s got a good heart, an empathetic soul, and he truly cares about others. I think he’s on the right track to caring equally about himself and his own well-being. To that end, he’s working on a fundraiser with the proceeds to support an organization that benefits firefighters- Illinois Fire Fighter Peer Support . Imma tell you right now, as he figures out what he’s going to do on this front I’ll be publicizing the shit outta this.

Before I wrap this up I want to get a couple things out here. I’m usually hesitant to name people for fear of forgetting someone. Today, I’m going to take that chance. I need to thank in no particular order; the guys from my union, Local 3234 for offering support in any way needed and with no hesitation. The men and women from my son’s local, Local 4813 for truly displaying brotherhood and sisterhood in his time of need. Matt Olson, the driving force behind ILFFPS, for answering every question I threw at him and also taking the time to ask me if I was processing everything ok. Thanks to Wendy, Vin, Carey, and Laura for letting me unload on you when I needed someone to talk to because, of course, I still have a hard time showing weakness in front of my own kids, especially when I feel like they’re looking at me for strength. I need to thank my rock star of a daughter-in-law for, well, pretty much everything. You kept the wheels on at the house when we were struggling to understand the changes coming our way, all while putting up with the quirks Lilly and I brought. We’re truly blessed to have you in our family. And if there is anyone I forgot to mention, I’m so very sorry.

Lastly, if you’re reading this and you’re struggling with whatever personal demons you may face, please remember you’re not alone. Talk to someone, seek help, recognize your value as a human being and how important you are to someone else. Please.

Peace.

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Retired Guy Post Number 2

While I was out-of-town, the fall edition of the biannual, official, Illinois retired fire guy magazine (pro tip- not its real name) came in the mail.  That being said, I’m taking this opportunity to share what I wrote back then here with you today.  Like I said when I started doing the regular column for the magazine; A.) I was (still am) thrilled to be asked to submit something and B.) going to share them here after a new article gets published.

So, here goes…

I recently had to travel back to the frozen tundra of northern Illinois.  My Local, DGPFFA #3234, had our Recognition Dinner.  We do this event every year to honor retirees from the previous year, and since I qualified, I came back for the festivities.  Since I’m now on a fixed income, I’d typically drive but due to time constraints, this time I flew.

For the trip home I chose casual attire, which included my union logo’d jacket.  I’m proud of my Union; Local 3234, the AFFI, and the IAFF and I don’t mind representing when I’m out in public.  

Brief side-track…

A few years ago, maybe 2013 or 14, I was helping the fellas collect for MDA.  I was positioned on one of the busiest intersections in town; west bound Butterfield Road at Finley Road.  At one point as I was strolling among the cars stopped at the light, I saw a woman, sitting in the front passenger seat, reach in to her purse.  Of course I stopped at her window.  An older woman along with her husband (I assume) driving a fairly recent model, full-size, Cadillac.  Big money, right?  I leaned over as she rolled down her window and as soon as the window opened the hubby leaned over and asked what we were collecting for.  I politely told him we were collecting for MDA, “you know, Jerry’s kids.”  Even though Jerry Lewis no longer did the telethon I still used that line, especially with folks my age or older.  As the wife deposited a dollar in change (I wish I was making that part up) the husband said, and I quote, “Oh, good.  I thought this was some union thing” Before they pulled away I said “Oh don’t worry sir, it is a union thing, thanks!” and laughed to myself as they drove off.

Back to the matter at hand.

So, while sitting at the gate at O’Hare, waiting for the return trip to North Carolina, a gentleman came over and sat down a couple seats away from me.  He looked at my jacket and asked if I was a firefighter.  I told him I was, that I was actually a recently retired firefighter.  Then he said, with complete sincerity “Thank you for your service.”  I thanked him for his kind words, but assured him the pleasure was all mine.  I meant it too.  I loved being “on-the-job” as much as anything I’ve done and all the good times that came along with it too.  But when someone from the general public drops a “TYFYS” on me, I get a little twitchy.  Don’t get me wrong, I like a compliment as well as the next person.  Still, something about it just doesn’t feel right.  I mean, after all, we’re just doing what we get paid to do, right?  And I may be wrong, but I think most of us got into this business for many things other than accolades.

So, my retired brethren and sisteren, (that may not be a word by the way) I’m looking for a little help here.  Do I just need to get over this or is there a better way to handle unsolicited yet genuine thanks for doing something I loved doing?  Any suggestions are welcome. And, uh, TYFYS…

There you have it.  I actually liked the first one better than this one, but I guess they can’t all be Pulitzer worthy…

That still holds true btw, I still don’t know how to respond when somebody tosses out a sincere “TYFYS” to me.  I mean, on occasion another fire guy will hand one out, but it’s totally different, kind of snarky when given to one another, so it’s easy to laugh off.  Oh well, I guess I just continue to smile and say “It was my pleasure” because, truly, it was.

One last thing before I head off to my next errand.  I’m not sure if I’ll get anything out between now and Election Day (caps mine) and I just want to take a few seconds to remind you of the importance.  I don’t care what your political beliefs are, (ok, that’s a lie, I do, but it’s still your right to vote.  Even when you’re voting for the wrong person…) to me, the single most American thing you can do is get. out. and. vote.  So please, get up off your couch and go do it.  This midterm is a very important election.  They all are, but this one more than most.  So instead of my usual sign off, I think I’ll leave you with this instead…

Vote.

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Roadside Markers

One of the things I miss most about being at the firehouse is the steady stream of material for this humble, little blog.  I mean, with minimal effort I was provided with multiple posts; whether it was the misadventures of new guys, unusual calls, or efforts on behalf of the union.  Mostly goofy new guys, but still.  On occasion I’ll get a text message from one of the guys, either from DG or one of the other places I wrote about here.  For example, I got a copy of a text exchange the other day wherein I learned our former new guy Mike still has his “you’re so pretty” moments.  I literally lol’d three or four different times as I kept reading and rereading the text.  Btw, I love you Mike, don’t ever change.  And congrats on the little one!

Another example is a phone conversation I had yesterday with a friend of mine that was recently promoted to Battalion Chief at his FD.  Today is his first shift and he joked that he’d probably mark the day by burning down a historic building in his town.  I, of course, asked him to wait until his second shift to destroy a city block, since I would then be in Illinois and able to harass him in person while also gaining first-hand information for a future blog post.  Of course, I really hope he doesn’t burn down a city block (mostly) but I’m not even lying when I say it would give me ample material to write.

And so I don’t get accused of burying the lede there, yes, I’m heading back to Illinois on Wednesday.  My dance card is mostly open, although Thursday afternoon/evening and Saturday are pretty booked.  If you’ve got availability and feel like chatting up a retiree, hit me up and we’ll see if we can make something happen.  Also, I’m looking for a little info on a phenomenon that seems to be a regular thing down here but not something I really recall seeing back home.

Now, I’ll grant you that vehicles sometimes break down along the interstate.  But I don’t remember them staying there for every long.  I don’t know if that’s due to people getting them towed home or to the zealousness of the ISP at keeping the highways clearish, but either way the sense of urgency to remove a vehicle from the side of the interstate down here is not remotely the same.  Another thing, and this is more what I’m wondering about, I notice people down here will stick something out one of the windows of the abandoned vehicle.  Sometimes a towel, rag, or t-shirt, but more often a plastic shopping bag.  I’ve been told that is done to alert the coppers the vehicle is broken down and not, in fact, abandoned.  Don’t ask, cause I don’t know.  I mean, I don’t know what one has to do with the other, but that’s what I’ve been told.  Just to kind of frost this cake, I noticed a tractor-trailer sitting on the side of the highway on my way up to Greensboro late last week.  When I returned home, the tractor was gone, but the trailer was still parked on the side of the road.  I think there were a couple of people by it still, looking at something on the back of the load.  Building materials, btw.  You know, 2×4’s etc..

You’ll never guess what I saw on the back of the load this morning on my way back up to Greensboro…  Because yes, of course, the trailer was still sitting there unattended.  Go on, guess.  I’ll wait…

Did you guess a plastic shopping bag?

YOU WIN!!!

***Disclaimer- there is no prize for correct guesses other than your very own smug satisfaction for correctly peering into the mindset of people down here via my very own twisted little perception of said people.***

Ok, I just heard from the vet, Lilly is doing great and will be ready to be picked up in a couple of hours.  I dropped her off pre-dawn today to get her spayed and microchipped.  I should probably wrap this up and move on to my next group of errands before I go get her and bring her home.

Keep your eyes open for stuff sticking out of windows of any broken down vehicles and report back, aight?

Peace

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This one goes to 11

Welp, this has taken me entirely too long to get to.  I was actually a little embarrassed when I checked the site the other day to see when my last posts had been (quite a while back) and I’ve had a busy last month or so.  As a consequence, I have much to write about.  I promise not to get too wordy here though.

Kinda…

I’ve got Tom Petty blaring at me whilst I work on this, it’s a holiday weekend Saturday morning, and life, on the whole, is pretty good.  Let’s get started.

I drove back to Illinois for an extended visit last month.  And I’ve already got to back up a wee bit; my travel weekend started with a trip about three hours southwest of me to Greenville, SC for a concert.  Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit with Richard Thompson as the opener.  Great.  Concert.  My hotel was literally across the street from the venue, which was kinda sweet in and of itself, but the show was just stellar.  I’ve been a Thompson fan for over thirty years and he’s an amazing musician.  If you’re not familiar, I highly recommend checking out his music.

The morning after the concert I headed north, and, as I’d intimated earlier, I split the trip into two days.  Pretty unremarkable journey home.  That’s a good thing, btw.  Especially if you’ve read any of my previous travel foibles.  You have, right?

My time in Illinois was spent with family, splitting my time between the homes of the Oldest One and the Quiet Child, but I spent time with all the kids and littles and it was delightful.  A lot of baseball games and softball games were watched and, by and large, thoroughly enjoyed.  I even got the see the Heir To The Throne hit his first high school home run, which was cool AF.

In addition to hanging with friends and family around home, I went to Springfield with nine other members of Local 3234 (our largest contingent ever!) for the state Legislative Conference.  So I got to hang with firefighter friends/union activists from across Illinois.  Spent a little quality time with some of the elected officials there, including a couple of after-hours gatherings in local watering holes.

Sorry, no stories will come from those escapades…

I got to hang out with the guys in the high-rise district for breakfast one Sunday (one of the best experiences of firehouse life), saw several friends and relatives for coffee (not all at once), I also swung by the cemetery to “chat” with Diane and Caitlin.  To be sure, there were several people (you know who you are) I had intended to get together with, that, for one reason or another was unable to, but there will be other trips home and I’m hopeful scheduling will be a little smoother.

The visit wrapped up with the 11th birthday of the Reigning Princess, which is where this pic was taken.  I can’t believe how big these guys are getting.  Pretty handsome group, no?  Speaking of time flying, when did I turn into an old man?  That’s a rhetorical question, btw, no comments necessary.

Just sayin’

I hit the road before 5:00 AM last Monday to head back to central North Carolina.  I guess karma was in my corner after the whole Memphis excursion, as this was also a really smooth trip.  The only time I used my favorite twelve letter word was to thank a fellow motorist, one with Wyoming plates on his car, for moving out of my way, allowing me to pass him easily.  I threw out the Bruce Willis line from Die Hard, you know the one.  I felt like it was appropriate given where he was from, you know, cowboys and all.   One of the high points was a lunch stop at the Bob (don’t hate, I like it) Evans restaurant in Chillicothe, OH.

Considering the rest of the clientele, I’m guessing the median age to have been 83. #83Nation.  There was also a bonus sighting of what I believe may have been the love child of auto huckster Bob Rohrman and novelist Steven King.  Yikes.  To make my lunchtime people watching even more interesting, I’m fairly certain there was a carny convention or something in town.  Again, Yikes.  But the blueberry pancakes were just the thing to get me to my next stop, one I plan for every trip between IL and NC, Beckley, WV.  I’ve never gone through the town itself, but I think it’s similar to Asheville, NC in that it is filled with artisans and has a kind of hippy vibe to it.  The rest stop/tourist center is filled with all kinds of locally made craft-y type stuff.  Blown glass, pottery, sculptures in both wood and metal and actually really good food.  If you’re ever traveling through West Virgina on either I-64 or I-77 you must stop and check it out.  Trust me.

Finally, from the “out of the mouths of babes” file, I’d like to quote the grandchild formerly known as Beatle Baby (he’s 6 years old already, I guess I’ve got to come up with a new nom de plume for him) “Grandpa Joe, you live far away.”

Yes, yes I do.  Smooth trip or not, it’s a long day on the road and I was glad to be home.  Let’s see what kind of nonsense comes my way so I can share it with you here.  But in the meantime, I’m going to head out to the shed and see what I can accomplish…

Peace

PS- what with the holiday weekend and all, I want to leave you with a PSA of sorts.  No, not my usual entreaty to not drink and drive, although, obvs.  Instead I’d like to ask you to take a minute to remember why this holiday exists.  Quite literally, thousands have given their lives to allow us the freedoms we take for granted today.  Let’s do our part to honor their memories and, to quote Labor Activist Mother Jones “Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living.”

Again, Peace

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Leadership. And Lack Of Same. Oh Yeah, Bonus Weather Update Too…

The good news is; the ground is too warm and it’s melting as soon as it hits.  The bad news is; it’s snowing again in central North Carolina.  I know some will take joy at those last two sentences, you know who you are, (wtf indeed) but I figure since I have, on occasion, weather shamed here, I’ve got to own up to the shite weather too so…

This one has percolated far too long so I’m just gonna move on and let it go where it may cause I need to post something for chrissakes.  Bear in mind the timeline is a wee bit off, but still.

Before I get to the titular topic, I’m gonna drop some, well I wouldn’t exactly call it filler, but rather, the events of my last few days.

As I mentioned at the end of my last post, I’m (*timeline alert*) currently traveling via Amtrak back to North Carolina from Washington D.C. where several hundred union firefighters met with our elected officials to promote legislation to try to improve working conditions, health, and safety or firefighters across the country.  It’s an annual pilgrimage where, in addition to fighting the “good fight” we also get the chance to catch up with our brothers and sisters from across the country.

Let me amend something from the previous paragraph… Due to track work, we’re currently crawling through Richmond, VA on the way back to NC.  Grand scheme of things it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like I have any plans this evening so it really doesn’t matter if I get back later than I planned.  Just an inconvenience.  Over all, I’ve really enjoyed this trip to and from D.C. and I’ll definitely look for more trips to take by rail in the future.

As with air travel, you cross paths with a unique cross-section of America when you use mass transit.  For instance –

I witnessed one of the more unique drink combinations ever on that same leg of the trip.  The woman sitting next to me for a couple of hours ordered, and I swear to you I’m taking no literary license with this; a hot tea with 2 creamers, 2 honey packets, 4 Splenda, and 2 sugars.  Again, I’m not even joking.  Talk about diversification of your sugar portfolio (h/t to Kent for that line btw)

Also, I continue to be amazed at the attire some people choose for their travels.  Again, no throwing of stones intended, and I get it that you choose comfort over almost anything else, but what part of your brain says it’s ok to wear, essentially, pajamas on public mass transportation?  And if you’re that committed to comfort, why not go all the way and leave the gym shoes at home?  Slippers would be the perfect match to your jammies, no?

Now that I’ve got that out-of-the-way, let’s talk about Leaders.

Leaders lead.  It’s what they do, which makes for an easy way to title them.  Leaders, when they no longer lead, are, imho, no longer leaders.  I can point, with relative ease, to an example that hits close to home for me and also for many of my regular readers.  My union.  Not at the local level and not at the state level.  Those two groups are both blessed with dedicated, hard-working, responsive, and responsible leadership.

Not so much at the national level.

Throughout the entirety of my career in the fire service, I was taught that leaders lead.  They decide things.  Sometimes they are faced with two or more awful options and must choose the most palatable.  Or the least offensive.  And they need to prepare, both themselves and those for whom they’re charged with advocating, for whatever outcome their decision elicits.  That’s what leaders do.  They don’t “sit one out” they choose.  If they get pushback from the rank and file, they explain their rationale.

I may have mentioned this here at some point over the last couple years, but I feel strongly enough about this that, frankly, I don’t care and I’ll gladly repeat myself.  Without getting too much into my personal politics (and if you spend any time here, you probably know what way I lean) in the build up to the 2016 election, my union chose not to endorse anyone.  Neither candidate.  In my time in this great union, I have been told, countless times – “we support those that support us, regardless of whether their name has a ‘D’ or ‘R’ after it.” and I have taken that very phrase back to my local as well as at numerous meetings across the state of Illinois as a member of our Labor History committee.  And I believed those words.  They were important to me.  I know a lot of guys on-the-job that are far more conservative than I am.  And that’s fine.  I respect your right to an opposing opinion on many topics.  But, to me, the opinion that outweighs them all is this one.  Does a candidate or an incumbent politician support my position as a member of Organized Labor?  That’s the one that gets my vote.

You know what?  I can’t even finish on this leadership (or lack of same) rant.  It’s frickin’ SNOWING here.  In North Carolina.  On March 21st.  The day after the Vernal Equinox.  Sure it’ll get “up” into the mid 40’s today but come on.

Sigh.

Peace.

PS – As I wrote here I was asked to contribute a regular column at the official retired guy magazine for the Illinois Association of Retired Firefighters.  I was, of course, thrilled at the offer.  I also felt like they should get some kind of exclusivity so I declined to post that column here.  However, since the newest edition is currently going to press (sounds so official doesn’t it?) I figure it’s probably ok to share my pearls of wisdom *snark* here now.  So that’ll be coming up in a couple days…

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Now Is The Winter Of My Content

I know I said in an earlier post I wanted to avoid weather shaming, but Geez Louise, I was sitting out here in the carport this morning in shorts and a t-shirt being serenaded by neighborhood birds, so it’s kinda tough not to.  Weather shame, that is.  Besides, I needed fodder for a post so, you know, low hanging fruit, right?

Winter apparently ends in February here.  Buds are starting to appear on various plants already and while working at clearing away the last vestiges of fallen leaves yesterday (in jeans and a t-shirt) I was sweating my butt off.  Figuratively, that is.  I still have a butt, so…

I was actually back in Illinois last weekend, a whirlwind tour if you will, coming back in for Local 3234’s annual Recognition Dinner.  A wonderful evening celebrating the guys that retired last year, myself included.  I had a wonderful evening catching up with people I’ve spent a great deal of time with over the last 25 years or so.  Many laughs were shared, a tall tale or two were told, and a bunch of hugs were distributed throughout the room.  I even got a promise for some of Bob’s homemade, deep dish pizza when I come back in May for an extended visit.  At least I think it was a promise.  If it wasn’t, well Bob, you’re on the spot now, so I guess you’ve gotta come through.

Speaking of amazing food… among the high points (there were many) was a special delivery from one of my bonus kids, Courtney.  Yes, you guessed it, RVCB’S!  Amazing as always, I just popped the last one this morning.  And like the old Folger’s coffee ad, they were good to the last drop.  Since it took a Pony Express type delivery I especially liked the threatening tag on the package, something to the effect of “If your name isn’t Joel keep your hands off the goods” which made me literally lol when it was pointed out to me.

In true Illinois fashion the weather was not great.  Several inches of snow in the days leading up to the dinner and daily high temperatures in the teens for the duration of my brief visit.  The coldest I saw was 8º with a wind chill of -3º and I have to say, it was ok.

That last statement gave me pause, because if you know me IRL, you know how much I like to bitch about cold weather.  *Hint- the correct answer is “a lot” *  After giving the matter a little more thought, I came to the conclusion that it’s kind of like hitting your thumb with a hammer.  It hurts.  But if you only do it once, the pain passes relatively quickly.  I was only in town for a couple of days and so was only briefly exposed to Illinois winter.  Unlike my entire life prior to this winter, when my thumb was hit roughly 27 times a day for each and every one of the approximately six month-long Illinois winters I ever experienced.

Several hours were also spent with the kids and the littles on Sunday.  Almost everyone knew I was coming in, so we all figured it would be a good way to see each other and arrangements were made to meet up at the home of the Boy Child and PhojoMama™.  I say “almost” everyone because the Quiet Child decided to leave my arrival as a surprise for the Reigning Princess.  When they arrived, RP stood in the hallway for five or ten seconds staring at me before she broke into a full on sprint, launching herself at me for an enormous hug.  It was awesome.  Another awesome part of the weekend was having the Little Diamond spend probably more time on my lap Sunday than she had cumulatively for her entire life to that point.  It was just a really nice way to wrap up a great weekend.

Speaking of wrapping up (smooth, huh?) it’s about time for me to head over to the “Y” because, you know, fitness is my middle name.

Peace

PS- because, well, you know…  Happy birthday baby!  I hope you two are doing everything you love.  Much like every other day if it’s like we’ve always been told it’s like.  And I won’t mention any numbers because my Mom didn’t raise any dummies.

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The Return of Fables From the Firehouse

I make no excuses for the way my brain works (or doesn’t, depending on your perspective) and this is a fine example of the maelstrom in my head bouncing from thought to thought to thought…

I was listening to a playlist the other morning, and a song came up that always takes me back to when the Oldest One was about six or seven years old.  The song “I Know What Boys Like” by The Waitresses has always made me chuckle and I still remember the first time I heard her singing along to the chorus.  The mixed emotions of her carrying the tune pretty faithfully (Hey!  Maybe she’ll grow up to be a singer and make millions!) blending against my precious little daughter singing “I know what boys like, I know what guys want.”

Insert wide-eyed emoji >here<

That got me thinking about other things from “back in the day” and how things have changed, for the better, around the firehouse.  No, not by my leaving, smartass, I’m talking about the difference in how we protected ourselves then versus now.

*Salt Alert*  When I started in the fire service, the soot on your gear was viewed as almost a badge of honor.  The nastier it looked, the more you had seen/done/accomplished.  And it was the same way to some extent with air packs (SCBA’s) in that we never wore them at, for example, car fires.  Why would we need one for a car fire, we’re outside for crying out loud.  And there was no small amount of new guy shaming to try to impress upon them just how much machismo we had because of these beliefs and how they needed to be “just as manly” as we were.

I vividly (well, as vividly as my memory will allow) recall a garage fire from late summer or early fall of 2002.  I know it was the summer of 2002 because we had a “new guy” with us and I checked with him to see when he started.  The call came in late in the evening; a garage on fire about two blocks from the firehouse.  Vin and I on the ambulance, John, Andy and Zig on the engine.  We got there and sure enough, the garage was on fire.  It hadn’t gotten through the roof or the overhead door yet, but I think it had taken out a window before we got there and was blowing pretty good.  Not too much, mind you , but what you would call a nice little fire.  If it’s not your stuff that’s burning.  Andy got the water supply squared away, John checked on the hazards, and Vin and I took the handline, and Zig, to the garage to put out the fire.  As they got the line and themselves ready to go in at the side door, I walked around to the back to see what all we had.  I found a second, smaller overhead door on the back wall and tried it to see if it was locked.  It wasn’t, and since I figured the line was on the verge of going in, I opened it to lift the smoke for Vin and Zig.  I stuck my head in and could see the fire towards the front of the garage but didn’t see those two inside yet.  I came around to the side and saw them kneeling at the door, Zig trying to get his mask right and Vinnie berating him for not being ready to go.  Berating may be too strong a word, but he was definitely giving him shit for it.  I, of course, joined right in.  Because, new guy, you know?  I don’t remember the exact words but it was something to the effect of “you don’t even need your mask, it’s only a garage fire and the smoke lifted when I opened the door, Nancy.”  Or maybe Sally.  I don’t remember which, but I’m pretty sure I used a woman’s name when I yelled at him for not being in yet.  To his credit, Zig held his ground and went “on air” before he went inside.  I wanted to make sure and put that in there, cause I know his Mom reads this from time-to-time.  Despite our “best efforts” your oldest made sure he was protected.  We made quick work of the fire, quicker than I realized, because as we were walking back up the driveway toward the fire engine we were met by the guys from the ladder truck bemoaning the fact that we put the fire out before they got there.  That’s always the goal btw, for engine guys at least, so we were pretty pleased with ourselves.  Still, looking back, it was pretty dumb on our part to go into a fire without the safety of the air packs on our backs.  That was kind of the culture back then though.  You’d come out of a fire, blow the accumulated crap out of your nose, and if the fire was out, light up a cigarette, because why not?

Fortunately, times change.  And I have to tip my hat to the DGFD and the progressive way they got back-up gear for everyone on the department along with extractors so we could wash our gear when we got back from a fire instead of wearing that shit for weeks after.  I’m not sure, but I think we were one of the first departments in our area to have those.  And I have to believe they made a difference.  Without getting all scientific on you, studies have found that a number of different bad things (medical term) leach into our skin through the gear that protects us and the sooner you get those bad things (medical term) off the gear and off your skin, the better off you’ll be.  I know a lot of places are now carrying softcloth wipes to clean your skin as soon as you get back to the engine, to further reduce the risk of down-the-road cancer.  Whatever it takes.  I’m all in favor of these guys making the workplace safer for themselves and their loved ones.  Without going too far off on a tangent, I think about things like this when I hear someone talk about how much “better” it was before, well, fill in the blank, you know?  The reality is, we’re almost always better off now.

As I said, almost.  This photo just came in courtesy of Dan T. showing a new guy and his attempt at chopping an onion.  And maybe his finger.  Also, note the onion skin still in place on said onion

Sigh.  New guys.  At least they’re entertaining.

 

Peace.

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Scary Creatures. Somewhere Perhaps, But Not Here.

Does anybody need three wardrobe boxes?  Asking for a friend…  The amount of leftover cardboard seems staggering, it certainly feels like more than what I bought.  I filled the recycle bin last week and immediately refilled once it was picked up.  I saved the boxes that survived the cross country transport in the best shape and put them up in the attic, you know, in case I ever decide to move again…  LOLOLOLOL, I crack myself up sometimes.  At any rate, it’s safe to say I’ve still got a surplus of cardboard products.  Now, this also means that I’ve essentially got everything unpacked.  It may not be where I want it to be, and I’ve still got much to do as far as getting this place the way I want it, but small victories are, in fact, victories nonetheless.

Something else I’ve got a surplus of; Halloween candy.  I had not. one. trick or treater. yesterday.  No goblins, no ghosts, no Kardashians, or any other frightening figures knocked on my door.  What the hell?  I, of course, bought candy that I like (obvs) and I bought a bunch of it because who wants to run out on Halloween amirite?  That’s just asking for trouble.  So now, rather than risk putting on a fast fifteen pounds of post Halloween weight I’ve decided to send out “care” packages.  Because I care about maintaining my svelte, boyish, figure.  Again, LOL.

I decided, since I’m traveling to Nashville for a wedding this weekend, for one of the guys from the firehouse, my brothers from Red Shift in the high-rise district will be the beneficiaries of some of my overestimation of candy.  You’re welcome!  I think I’m going to send some to the littles too.  Sugar load coming courtesy of someone who won’t have to deal with the after effects!  Speaking of Nashville, since this is my first time there, I’m open to suggestions of where to go and what to see so fire away.  I’ve gotten a couple of good ideas from people, but I’m making a weekend out of it and I’d like to see as much as I can.  I’m kind of bummed on one thing; I knew I wanted to check out the Bluebird Cafe, even more so after it was recommended by a friend who has a trustworthy sense of quality music, but when I signed on Monday morning to get a ticket to a show I wanted to see, it was sold out less than three minutes after it opened up.  It’s a very small venue, so I get it, but it’s still kind of a drag.  Sigh.

Moving right along… I thought I had mentioned, either here or on the old site not that long ago about how I made chocolate chip cookies after a baking fail at the firehouse.  I was pretty sure I’d commented about it, at least in passing, and a deep seated fear of redundancy initiated a fifteen or twenty minute search through old posts which produced nothing.  So, let me just say that those cookies were pretty darn tasty.  If you read this even semi-regularly or if you know me IRL, you know how fond I am of baked goods.  So it is with no small amount of shame that I admit to you, I neglected to buy anything of that nature during my first couple excursions to the grocery store since I got here.  I know, right?  I don’t know what I was thinking.  I’d like to blame Bob and TJ somehow, but I just couldn’t make that work in my head, so I guess I have to own this one.  To that end, I bought a Kitchen Aid mixer.  This is something I’ve been putting off since the first batch of homemade cookies.  It was a bit of a mess, literally, since I wasn’t prepared hardware-wise for baking at home.  Bowls were a little on the small side and the old hand mixer I’d picked up at an estate sale was almost overmatched.  I found out just how overmatched when I smoked it (literally) at the conclusion (thankfully) of my second batch of homemade cookies.  I waited because I wasn’t sure where I’d end up, or rather, what type of kitchen I’d have.  And since I’m nothing if not a color coordinating fool *snark* I waited to make sure it matched whatever appliances I’d end up with.  Actually that’s a little less snarky than I care to admit to, but whatevs.  So I’ll soon have no one to blame but myself for not having delicious baked goods whenever I desire.  Spoiler alert- there’s really never anyone to blame but myself, so…

I’ve decided my maiden voyage in the new mixer will be – brookies. That’s right,  you know ’em, you love ’em, you can’t eat just one, that little piece of euphoria inducing splendor will be coming to me from my very own kitchen.  I already can’t wait.  If you’ve never had one, well, you need to change that, pronto.  You’ll thank me, I promise.

Peace

PS – I can’t believe I forgot to add that at the end of my last post.  It’s been kind of my unofficial official closing here for years.  So you’re getting another one here.

Peace

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The Last Day At the Firehouse

I’m officially unemployed.

Some might say unemployable, but that’s a story for another day.  Or maybe someone else’s blog.  This one is going to be about my last shift at the firehouse, specifically, my last day as firefighter/paramedic for the Village of Downers Grove.  I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never used the name of the Village or the FD here.   I didn’t want to take a chance on bringing down discipline if I shot my mouth off about something that irritated me in the moment, you know?  Don’t get me wrong, it was a great place to spend the last 25 years, but there have been issues from time-to-time.

But that’s not why you’re here.

Today’s post is going to be all sweetness and light.  And pictures.  Lots of pictures.  One of the perks of having a photojournalist in the family.

The day started with two old guys threatening to jump in the shower with me and just. kept. getting. better.  Actually, I lied.  the day started with my spotting an old “friend”.  If you remember this post You’ll recall my aversion to, of all things, a lamp.  So what to my wandering eyes should appear as I entered the day room for my last shift?

This –

Thanks to Red Shift (B or 2nd if you prefer) the lamp will be, for the rest of my days, a reminder of just how much fun life in the firehouse is.  That sucker burned brightly for 24 hours, until I gently unplugged it to take it out to the car for the trip home.  It will have an honored place, in every residence I have for the rest of my days.  To top it off, I walked in to the kitchen to find a couple of Red Shifters working away on biscuits and gravy to get the Festival To Me off on the right foot.  I knew something was up when I walked into the bunkroom to drop off my bag and the lights were all on and you guys were all awake (even Dan for cryin’ out loud) but I had no idea you guys took things to the level you did.  Thanks one and all.

Now, my intention for this post was to set my laptop out and put stuff on here throughout the day as I had a few idle moments.  The flaw in my plan became obvious quickly.

I had no idle moments.  There was a steady stream of visitors from 6:45 or so until after 2:00 yesterday afternoon.  I mean, nonstop.  When I say I was overwhelmed, that’s putting it mildly.  I mean, I figured (hoped) there’d be a nice turnout to bid me farewell, but the sheer volume of well-wishers left me speechless on more than one occasion yesterday.  That’s not an easy task either btw, leaving me speechless.  I saw friends from the Village and from Village Hall, friends from the union, friends from the FD, friends from the world of politics, friends from Good Sam, friends from all over.

Bob and TJ spent 10 hours cooking on Thursday, getting stuff ready for yesterday.  They made a ginormous batch of gumbo, jambalaya and beans and rice to feed all of our guests and it was Phe. Nominol.  It almost made me wish I’d eaten less from the mountain of baked goods that was dropped off in steady supply all day long.  Just a ridiculous amount of food.  Cal baked a carrot cake and a banana cake for me.   My Bonus Kid, Courtney, made RVCB’S! (editorial note, I’ve decided that henceforth RVCB’s shall always be followed by an exclamation point), banana bread and peanut butter cups.  Brief confession, at one point yesterday I was able to identify everything by who brought it.  I can’t do that now.  I apologize if you brought something and I left it and you out.  But Sweet Jesus there was a lot.

Late afternoon the steady stream slowed to a trickle, but some of my favorite nurses (spoiler alert, I have many) came from across the street to see me off.

Jo, Jenny, and Ida, we’ve had so many wonderful moments over the years.  You (almost) always greeted me with a smile, if not a hug, which btw helped to create somewhat of a legend around here so thanks for that, even if it was just to humor the harmless old guy.  Hearts to you and to so many other nurses, techs, secretaries, admissionists(?), and docs that I’ve crossed paths with over the years.  Truly some of the most talented medical peeps I’ve ever known.  And a lot of fun to hang with too.

Before I go any further, I need to give a shout out to one of my all-time favorite people.  Vinnie and his lovely (and incredibly tolerant.  I mean, saint-like) wife Terri stopped by to help see me into retirement.

Those two are on the short-list of people that have had my back in
so many ways over the last 14+ years.  They dropped off food when they knew we couldn’t deal with going to the store, they were just always there whenever I needed them.  To say I love you both somehow feels inadequate, but it’s the truth.  Thanks for everything.

Before I go any further, can I just say (fwiw I’m going to say it anyway) that yesterday and on in to today, social media has been a source of greater joy than probably any time in the ten years or so I’ve been active on it.  The sheer volume of posts made in tribute to me, misguided though they may be, almost literally brought me to tears.  I saw posts from across the country, wishing me well.  You people rock.

Moving on.

Most of the kids and grandkids came by for dinner.  The Quiet Child, Boy Genius, and Reigning Princess couldn’t make it in, because sometimes stuff happens.  The rest of the crew got in to join us for dinner; home made, deep-dish pizza courtesy of Chef Bob and it was just stellar, as always.  Perhaps not surprisingly, meals like that are one of the things I’m really going to miss.  Scenes like this one-

 are irreplaceable.  The camaraderie  brought to a group that eats together, shared time to discuss shared memories, shared tasks, shared goals, successes, and even sometimes, shared failures are at the heart of what we do.  So many of the world’s problems are “solved” at firehouse tables each and every day.

I’ll miss that.

As I get near the end of this, I’ve got a couple more thoughts.  First, to my many firehouse families; I was, am, and always will be proud to have worked with you.  Whether on the streets of our Village, at the bargaining table, the union hall, or at the Legislature of our state or our nation.  We always put the lives, wants, and needs of others before our own.  It’s what we do and a large part of who we are.  Don’t ever stop doing that.

Thanks for many great meals, many great runs, many great conversations, and for letting me be a part of your lives.  You’ve all been a big part of mine.  I’ll cherish our times together, good and bad, I promise I’ll check in when I’m in town.  And you’ve always got a place to stay if you get out by me.  As long as you cook.  Just sayin…

To my IRL family-

Thanks so much for being you.  Each one of you has a larger role than you know in getting me from Point “A” to Point “B” and you’ve all made the trip not only worthwhile, but so much more enjoyable.  I can’t imagine, nor do i want to imagine, where I’d be without you.  It may be from a distance soon, but I can’t wait to watch each of you evolve towards what, and who, you will become.  I couldn’t be more proud of all of you.  I love you.

Even though I could go on a little longer with this, I’m going to leave it with one final picture from yesterday.  I think this kind of sums everything up nicely for me.

Peace.